The Reason (4 page)

"They—the
they
that are experts in everything—say we never fully comprehend what's occurring when we pass on. Not that I'd know or anything, but that's just what I've come across in my studies."

"I'm sure my Mayer found his way to heaven. It's just that I like to think that he checks in with me every now and then to make sure I'm doing okay and not futzing around with any of the city ordinances he put into place." She laughs deep down in her chest and I join in. I don't sense her husband anywhere near at the present time. Though who am I to say he's not around her at other times?

Bravely, I ask, "Well, when we come in to investigate, I can get a sense psychically of what's going on, if anything. You know, we could take some pictures, do some recordings to see if we capture anything on the digital voice recorders ... maybe Mayer has a message for you?"

"Right! Like on those ghost-hunting shows on television? I love watching those."

Nodding, I say, "That's what my group does. We've investigated a ton of places and gotten a lot of evidence." I want to ask her about the woman behind the curtain. However, it seems that even the mayor doesn't know about the extra guest in her house. "You never know if there are other spirits present, considering how old and historic your house is."

Donn rotates her left shoulder and lets out a contented sigh. My nose itches a bit with my heightened psychic abilities, and I know that she's feeling much better. The attunement-activation healing session has worked on her.

"Next weekend would be perfect then, if it works with you gals," Donn says. "The new housekeeper is starting on Monday, so the manor's in a little disarray. The last woman left me so suddenly and created a mess in her wake."

I furrow my brow. "Why did she leave?"

The mayor shrugs as she reaches for her purse. "Who knows? Tallulah was always a strange one, tripping all the time and breaking things. It's a good thing she quit before I fired her. I couldn't afford to lose any more china."

I breathe deeply and center my thoughts on what Mayor Shy is relaying to me. I see Tallulah, an older woman with curly red hair pinned back behind her ears. She's dusting the china cabinet at the mayor's mansion when suddenly dishes begin flying off the shelf onto the floor. Tallulah screams and backs away from the shattering glass. Someone else is making this happen. The housekeeper grabs rosaries out of her hip pocket and closes her eyes in prayer. The woman doesn't believe in ghosts or spirits and soon goes about her work again, only to be tripped on her way to the kitchen. The entity that resides in the mayor's mansion does not like Tallulah. I know that for a fact and can sense it clear as a bell. But I don't feel like this is something I can share with the mayor until I get a handle on exactly who this spirit is.

One thing's obivious: she's not a happy ghost.

But then again, a lot of the ones I encounter aren't. Mostly they're scared, confused, misinformed, or just unaware of their own circumstances. Celia said she's researching the manor and its history, and we'll get on it to see what we're up against.

"I'll gather the team and we'll be there next Saturday night."

Donn pats me on the shoulder. "Sounds perfect. Maybe I'll hang around with you for the fun."

Fun? I don't think so. We'll see...

Donn reaches into her purse and extracts thirty dollars for me.

"The session's only twenty," I say.

"A tip," she says with a friendly smile.

"Thanks, Mayor Shy. I mean, Donn."

"You're a miracle worker, Kendall. I haven't felt this good in weeks. Whatever it was you did worked like a charm. I look forward to welcoming you and your friends."

I take the cash and grin my thanks.

The over-the-door bell rings out as the mayor exits the store. I follow behind her and click shut the dead bolt. I place the cash in the register and then lock it as well.

I check my BlackBerry to find several text messages from Jason.

> Thinking of u!

> Everything ok?

> Don't do anything ghostly w/out me.

> Why haven't u answered me??? R u ok?

> Call me!

Awww ... he's so adorable, worrying about me like this. No one could ask for a better boyfriend.

As I'm speed-dialing Jason, I'm suddenly struck with the most horrendous nausea and stomach cramps. I drop my BlackBerry on the hardwood floor as I double over in excruciating pain. My cell phone hits hard and breaks apart into three pieces; the battery and SIM card skitter out and scatter. I can't worry about the electronics at this moment or what might have happened to the call to Jason. All I know is I feel like someone has stabbed me in the gut with a large chef's knife. Like the one Mom keeps next to the stove for chopping and cutting. A searing throb of ache cripples me, warning me of things to come. This isn't someone else's injury I'm feeling. It's not empathy or reliving a past event. This is clearly a premonition. A physical demonstration to illustrate the stunning image of my own end.

"No..." I call out to no one as the tears trickle out of the corners of my eyes. "I won't let this happen. I won't think about it." I have no idea who I'm talking to, whether it's Emily who might be listening or God himself.

I breathe through the anguish, not giving in to the prospect that lies ahead of me. By recognizing the possibility, I only encourage these visions to manifest in reality.

I gather the pieces of my phone and push out of Divining Woman, barely remembering to lock the back door behind me. Once I'm outside in the waning daylight hours, my breathing begins to settle. With shaky hands, I put the cellular device back together. Immediately, Jason's number appears on the LED.

"Hey," I say, trying to steady my inhalation. "What's up?" Taking the casual approach so as not to give in to what just happened.

"Are you all right, Kendall?" Jason asks furiously. "I've been worried sick about you!"

"I've been at work."

"You could have texted me!"

"I was with a customer."

"Kendall, you can't just drop a shit bomb like you did and not expect me to worry about you constantly. I'm not wound that way."

"I'm fine, Jase. Really I am."

I hate lying to him, but there's no reason to upset him further until I find out what's going on. For some reason, my senses are saying that everything centers around whatever it is that was glaring at me in Mayor Shy's house. Until I can get to the bottom of that, I'll have to keep up with my daily routine and keep keeping on.

I will
not
manifest this impending tragedy.

"Where are you?" he asks. "I'm coming to get you."

"No worries. I've got my car." However, my hand trembles as I reach to place the key in the car door. "I'll be home in five minutes."

"I'll be there when you get there." Then he clicks off the phone without saying goodbye.

I'm not offended. I know he's just concerned.

Sitting behind the wheel of the Fit, I take a deep gulp of air and then slowly release it. A crank and a shift into reverse and then into first, and I'm on my way down Main Street to my house. After Jason leaves tonight, I'm going to have a long convo with Emily to get to the bottom of all this.

I
HATE IT WHEN A GHOST COPS AN ATTITUDE
with you.

"Emily, why won't you just answer my questions?"

"Because you ask questions that I can't answer."

"Can't ... or won't?" I toss my pillow at Emily, who's sitting in my rocker with Sonoma the bear. I can see him through her body as she makes the chair move back and forth somehow. Of course the pillow doesn't faze her. She's dead.

"We've had this conversation before, Kendall."

"And we'll keep having it until you give me some answers. Come on, Emily. You're my spirit guide. Do some frickin' guiding here, would you?"

"I don't know what more I can do. I'm here for you as much as I can be."

I grind my top teeth against the bottom ones. Frustration boils under my skin. Father Mass's Sunday sermon this morning was on the topic of patience, but I have none at the moment. "Let's take this from the top again," I say with a bit of sarcasm icing my speech. "I have a dream where you're in a burning vehicle, pregnant, with a dead boyfriend behind the wheel. Then the image shifts into me in a heap on the floor, bleeding to death internally. What 'more' you can do for me is interpret this dream in more detail than saying that I saw your past and my future."

"I can't do that..."

I throw my hands up in the air. "Again with the can't. Is there some code of the undead that you're in jeopardy of breaking?

"Now Kendall..."

"Don't!" I hold my hand up in front of me toward the spirit of the woman who died too young. She could be my college-age sister from how she looks, except for the morbid hospital gown she's apparently doomed to wear for all of eternity. I never realized I could be so perturbed at someone who doesn't really exist. "Don't 'Kendall' me like you're Sarah Moorehead. Only she can talk to me like that. I want some answers and I want them now."

Emily's head slumps, her long brown hair falling into her pale face. She plays with one of the ties on her hospital gown, rolling it between her thumb and forefinger.

"There are certain things we know on this side that simply can't be shared with the living. Things you have to learn on your own. Or at the right time."

I blow out an annoyed gust of air. "Are you telling me that I have to
die
to know the truth about you? About my own future?"

She shakes her head.

I stand and begin pacing between my bed and dresser. Aggravation burns in my chest like nasty heartburn from too many jalapeños on my movie nachos. "You're pissing me off, Emily. Who was the guy that died in the car with you and why isn't he here haunting me as well?"

"Kendall ... I..."

"I know. You can't tell me." I head for the bedroom door. My stomach growls at the smell of Mom's homemade spaghetti that's wafting up from the kitchen. The piquant smell of onions, pepperonis, and fresh tomatoes does little to soothe my annoyance. I spin back around only to find Emily right behind me, her hand on my shoulder. I feel nothing, though. Her touch is as much a phantom as the mystery that surrounds her.

"You tell me you're here to help me. You tell me you're here to guide me. You tell me you've been with me my whole life. You tell me that you care about me. You tell me all of this crap and bullshit, Emily. It means nothing if you won't help me through this." I poke my index finger into my chest for emphasis. "I'm scared, Emily. Scared out of my wits. Don't you understand that?"

Her beautiful face falls into a heartbreaking frown. I think if she were able to cry, she would.

"All I can tell you, Kendall, is that I love you, but there are limits to what I can do for you."

I can't hide my disdain and she sees it. I open my door and slam it shut between us.

If Emily won't tell me the truth about her former life and how it affects me, I know who can get to the bottom of it.

With her smarts and determination, Celia Nichols could find a lost contact lens in an Olympic-size pool.

The hell with conversing with a ghost. A living soul will solve this.

On Tuesday, The lunchroom at RHS is rollicking with the sounds of Becca's fresh Trance groove, the hubbub of the cheerleaders selling tickets to the end-of-winter dance, and a short-lived rumble over God knows what between Dragon—Becca's boyfriend—and Marcus Stafford.

I set my tray down next to Taylor, who eyeballs my macaroni and cheese.

"I
knew
I should have gotten that instead of the meat loaf," she says with a pout.

"Have some of mine."

She beams at me and picks up her fork to dig in.

Across the table, Celia looks like she hasn't slept since we talked on Sunday night. When I asked her for help on researching Emily, I had no idea she'd turn it into her own personal season of
CSI.
Her hair is a mess, she has slight dark circles under her eyes, and she's on her second iced coffee of the day.

"Dude, you look like crap," I say, knowing she won't take it as a personal affront.

Celia lifts her dark eyes at me momentarily and then shifts them back to the stack of papers in front of her. Her laptop is off to the side, and I can see several browser windows opened.

"No time for sleep. Too much to even tell you right now."

Clay Price, her boyfriend, plops down and slides a grilled cheese and bacon in front of her. He loops his long arm around the back of her chair and glances over her shoulder without Celia even blinking. "What's this secretive research project you've got her working on, K?"

"It's not a secret, Clay," she corrects him. "It's my new obsession to find these answers for Kendall."

"Such as?" Taylor asks, uncharacteristically talking with her mouth full. I better dig into my mac 'n' cheese before she Hoovers it all down.

Fisting a handful of papers, Celia looks at Taylor, Clay, and then me, her eyes wide. "You wouldn't believe what-all I've been doing. I've been Googling the hell out of every published police report for the last twenty years from San Francisco to Bar Harbor, Maine."

Taylor's fork stops midair. "You can do that?"

"Oh, yeah," Celia says with a sly smile. "My cousin Paul Nichols is with the GBI and he's been helping me out."

"GBI?" I ask.

"Georgia Bureau of Investigations," Celia and Clay say in unison.

"Oh." Who knew? "What's he been helping out with?"

Celia tugs out the drawings that she and I have done of Emily. Celia's a whiz with a set of colored pencils and was able to capture Emily's image based on my description. "I faxed these to Paul and asked him to run it through the national databases."

I'm riveted. "Of what?"

"Missing persons. Jane Does. Things like that. I told him to be looking for a DOA from a car wreck at any hospital."

"And don't forget that she was pregnant. There has to be a record of the child's death as well."

"Why do you assume
l'enfant
died too?" Taylor asks with such clarity.